Beauty and Honor
by mahc
Summary: JED-DONNA - Fifth story in the "As I Was Drifting Away" Series. Excerpt: 'You have ruined him, Donna,' Leo snarled, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back up. 'You have ruined him.'
1. Chapter One

This begins the fifth story set in the "As I Was Drifting Away" series. The sets go chronologically:  
  
"As I Was Drifting Away;" "In Your Eyes;" "Some Say;" "Stony Limits;" "Beauty and Honor"  
  
Thanks for your continued reading and interest - and thanks for the feedback!  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: Some 3rd season, but not much Rating: PG Disclaimer: The only character that I created in this story is - well, you'll see. Jed, Donna, C.J., Josh, Toby, and the others are strictly AS's.  
  
Beauty and Honor - Chapter One A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Donna took a deep breath, her face strained and tired from almost two hours of forced smiles, two hours of names and titles and introductions - and being on display. They all agreed, although it had taken a significant argument on C.J.'s part to convince Jed, that this scheduled event would be a timely opportunity for Donna to "come out" only days before the wedding.  
  
So here she was, mingling adequately, if not expertly, among the fifty- three partygoers originally invited to greet the new ambassador from the Netherlands, but whose focus now was completely and unnervingly on her. Even the ambassador seemed distracted from his own reception.  
  
She had stuck by Jed's side at first, her hand on his arm, his ease and confidence shielding her, but gradually she warmed to the crowd and noticed that he moved away, let her take more of the spotlight alone.  
  
Champagne flowed, hors d'oeuvres were consumed, and the tension that tightened the room early on eased as the evening progressed. In a surreal fog, Donna found herself making polite conversation with senators, foreign ministers, and DNC contributors. After endless streams of curious conversationalists, or gawkers as she labeled them, she finally ran into an accidental lull.  
  
It was at that point Josh approached, his step not quite the usual carefree move with arms flinging. With what she could only describe as hesitancy, he eased next to her, clearing his throat.  
  
"Hi," she greeted, hoping it would put him more at ease. This was not Josh, not her Josh, not the sweet teaser she knew.  
  
"Hey. Good party," he offered.  
  
"It's okay."  
  
"Uh, listen, I - uh -"  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"I, uh - "  
  
"Josh?" No banter? No teasing? No egotistical boasting? This was definitely not her Josh.  
  
Then he surprised her and grinned, Josh's grin. "Oh hell, Donna. I just wanted to say that I'm gonna - that I'll - " He cleared his throat and she found her own uncomfortably tight. "That you're going to be a great First Lady and I'm really happy for you - and for the President."  
  
Okay, don't cry now. Not in front of the ambassadors and the senators. "Thank you, Josh," she whispered, not trusting herself to attempt a more verbal reply.  
  
"He looks good," Josh noted, glancing across the room toward Jed, who was apparently entertaining a small group of dignitaries with trivia. Well, maybe not; they actually looked interested. "Happy and relaxed despite-" He stopped and Donna wondered what he would have said. But Josh just looked back at her and grinned again. "And it's because of you." He leaned over and kissed her gently on the cheek, then turned on his heel and left, leaving her touched and curious at once.  
  
Sighing at one more reminder of her changing status, Donna let her eyes roam the room on the off chance she might grab a glass of water. As she looked, her gaze caught that of a man staring at her frankly, his dark eyes flashing, his mouth turned up in an intimate grin, too intimate for someone she had never seen before. The sandy hair was cropped short like men do sometimes when they are losing it and want to diminish the effect. Nevertheless, he was not unattractive, except for the rather disturbing way he looked at her. She wondered who he was, what connections he had to merit an invitation.  
  
Then she forgot about him as a gentle touch at her shoulder turned her away. A quick brush of lips against her skin and subtle whiff of familiar aftershave followed.  
  
"Let's see," she mused aloud, "who could this be?"  
  
The rich tone curved her mouth into a smile. And the seductive flavor of it quickened her pulse. "Depends on who you want it to be," he murmured in low tones for her ears only.  
  
"I want it to be the sexiest man in the room," she decided quietly.  
  
"Oh. Well, I'll see if I can find Toby, then."  
  
She laughed, knowing he wouldn't say such a thing to anyone but her, and caught his hand, pulling him close and letting her lips touch his. A camera bulb flashed at that instant and she drew away, sorry she had allowed herself that liberty. But Jed didn't seem to mind at all. Grinning, he squeezed her hand, letting her know the public display was all right.  
  
When she got a good look at his eyes, however, disappointment fell heavily on the shoulders he had just caressed. "Look," he began, hand waving in a vain attempt to make his statement casual. "I've got to go do this - thing, and - "  
  
"Okay." Might as well make it easy for him. It wouldn't stop him even if she didn't.  
  
"I'm sorry. I'll be back - "  
  
"Okay." She tried not to be too abrupt, knowing in her mind that he had to go. It was probably Korea again. Whatever was going on in that damned country had monopolized his time for the past week.  
  
He raised his chin in a gesture she had come to realize indicated he was bracing himself for some unpleasantness. "Donna, I'm sorry. You know I have to - "  
  
"I said okay," she repeated, trying too late to soften the way it sounded. "I understand."  
  
And even though he smiled again tentatively, she could see the doubt in his eyes.  
  
"Okay," he echoed. "I'll be back as soon as I can."  
  
As he left, she felt suddenly alone, even though the room fairly buzzed with music and dancing and eating and drinking and talking. Even though C.J. and Toby were chatting next to the band. Even though Josh had cornered Amy again, trying either to talk her into or out of something. Even though she knew Jed was still in the building.  
  
A slow scream built up in her chest and one of those odd moments pushed at her. A moment when you feel as if you have to get up and leave or let loose in a tornado of a fit like the Tasmanian Devil. Wisely choosing the first option, she moved as calmly as possible toward the doors leading to the South Lawn. Immediately, she felt the ubiquitous presence of her secret service agent.  
  
"Jonah," she said quietly, hoping her eyes relayed the intensity of her request. "I need a moment or two alone."  
  
His gaze never wavered. His stance never faltered.  
  
Damn. "Okay, maybe not alone-alone, but - well, you know what I mean." Please.  
  
He nodded, reluctantly, but stepped away toward the door, leaving her blissfully by herself at the edge of the lawn.  
  
The cooling Washington air brought chill bumps to her arms, but she didn't care. It was sacrifice enough to get out of there, away from the blatant stares, frank assessments. She felt a sudden surge of guilt for making Jed feel guilty himself about leaving. He was the President of the United States, for Pete's sake. This was something that happened all the time and she had better just get used to it, but it wouldn't be easy. Letting out a heavy breath, she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and peered into the haze of lights over the capital city.  
  
"Taking a break?"  
  
The voice snapped her head around, brought her from her thoughts back to the present, the real. Its owner was familiar, the same blonde man who had caught her gaze in the hall, who had fixed her with knowing eyes. She wasn't sure how to respond, so she answered honestly.  
  
"Just needed a little air." Where was Jonah? Okay, she saw him, but he was giving her space, as she had requested.  
  
"Yeah, I bet," he snickered, swirling the liquid in his glass. By the slight sway of his body, she assumed this was not his first drink of the evening. "Tough job, huh?"  
  
What was he talking about? "I suppose."  
  
"Someone's gotta do it, though. Might as well be you." The sly curve of his lips disturbed her, threw up red flags. She tried to remain silent, to ignore him.  
  
"I don't blame you, you know. I say more power to you. A beautiful girl like you. Bartlet's a lucky son of a bitch, if you ask me."  
  
Son of a bitch? Did this idiot just call the President of the United States a son of a bitch?  
  
Well, I didn't ask you, jerk. "I beg your pardon?"  
  
His smile now became slick, revolting. "Pretty smart."  
  
"What?" Hell, why did I ask that? She glanced around at Jonah, still posted obediently by the doors. A simple yell would draw him, but she didn't want a scene, didn't want to cause an incident. So she decided just to remove herself from the problem, to step slowly and casually toward the building.  
  
But before she could move, he continued, easing around so that he stood between her and her planned escape path. Hello? Jonah? Nevermind what I said earlier.  
  
"The set up. Smart. He's pretty rich, I understand. And of course the power's helpful." Now he leaned in close, uncomfortably close. "And I know what he gets in return. An occasional roll in the hay with a hot, frisky thing like you."  
  
A red flash of fury passed across her vision, so intense that she felt dizzy from its power. How did this fool get invited in the first place? Baring her teeth in a deceptive smile, she verbalized her question.  
  
He ignored her, continuing his previous line. "Or does he even make you pay that? Maybe all he needs, or maybe all he can handle," he leered, "is a bauble to hang on his arm at parties like this."  
  
Now the red burned even hotter, scorched her face with its heat. With supreme effort, she restrained the hand that had instinctively risen to brand his cheek like a hot poker.  
  
"I think," she growled between gritted teeth, "that you had better leave."  
  
His brow rose. He lifted his glass in salute, a sloppy grin on his face. "Well, you give Jed Bartlet a run for his money, sweetheart. I'm sure you'll get most of it anyway. But before you get stuck with your sugar daddy, I know somebody who can show you a real good time."  
  
"What?!" This was about to get out of hand, she realized, slightly panicked.  
  
He was deceptively fast for a drunk man, slipping a hand to her waist and pulling her to him hard. With a gasp, she threw her own hands instinctively up between them, pushing at his chest, recoiling from the alcohol on his breath. Where the hell was Jonah? Okay, now was time to make some noise.  
  
But before she could even let her jaw fall to yelp out for help, she saw a hand tap him on the shoulder. Instantly, relief and fear crashed through her. The man stopped and turned slightly, his eyes narrowing until he saw the face that belonged to that hand. And then, Donna figured, he saw very little, because two seconds later he was out cold on the ground.  
  
In the coming years, she would reflect on that incredible moment, a moment she had never imagined seeing, a moment no one would have ever predicted, a moment whose memory still never failed to bring a guilty smile to her lips. In that moment, a fist whipped with unsuspected speed and power to throw a hard punch into the jaw of her assailant. She heard a grunt, wasn't sure if it was from the attacker or the victim. Then, her irritant's head snapped back and he crumpled in a liquid heap at her feet.  
  
Her stunned eyes moved from his prone figure to slowly scan the person standing before her. She started with his shoes, polished and gleaming, continued up his pressed trousers, lingered just a moment at his hips before tracing upward across his chest. Finally, she rested her vision on the face, his face, hard and furious, and a little stunned.  
  
"Dear God," she thought. "What did he do?"  
  
But she knew what he had done. With a textbook right uppercut, Josiah Bartlet, President of the United States, had just dropped her obnoxious harasser on the South Lawn of the White House. Who would have thought?  
  
Jed stared at her, unconsciously flexing the fingers of his hand and wincing. He seemed rather calm, considering.  
  
"You all right?" he asked, true concern bleeding through.  
  
She nodded, suddenly unable to speak. Did what she think just happened really happen?  
  
Footsteps pounded the ground behind them and they both turned in time to see Ron Butterfield and Jonah skid to a halt, followed closely by at least four other dark suits, eyes wide at the sight laid out before them. The President's Head of Security took in the figure on the ground, blood dribbling from the unconscious man's mouth, then raised his astonished gaze to his protectee. Their eyes met. Finally, Jed shrugged, as if that gesture said enough.  
  
"Are you all right, Mister President?" the agent asked when he found his voice.  
  
"Well," Jed breathed, "my hand hurts like hell, but, yeah, I'm fine." He tossed a nod toward his victim. "Get him out of here, would you?"  
  
"Yes, sir." Was that a new gleam in Ron's eye? A flicker of amusement mixed with no small amount of admiration? Donna was pretty sure she read him right.  
  
Almost alone again, except for the agents Ron had stubbornly left in place a few yards away, Jed turned to her again, his eyes demanding the truth this time. "You sure you're okay?"  
  
Who would have thought, indeed? "Yeah. He was just - drunk. Jonah was right there. If you hadn't - " Now she stopped, remembering his grimace that followed the punch. "Let me see your hand."  
  
He looked startled, and his face paled for just a moment. Then he recovered and thrust it out toward her. Oh, God, she realized, I sounded like Abbey. But she didn't say anything, and he didn't comment to let her know if she had gotten that right or not.  
  
The flesh was red around his knuckles and slightly swollen. A sharp hiss accompanied her gentle probing, prompting her to ease up. He chuckled. "You're never going to see if it's broken that way," he noted, gritting his teeth and flexing the fingers on his own.  
  
"Just bruised," he diagnosed, dropping his hand and raising the good one to her chin. "Donna, are you sure -"  
  
"Jed, I'm okay." And she was.  
  
What worried her now was the result of the incident. Surely it would get out. Surely CNN would carry a sensational story about how the President slugged an innocent citizen at a party for the Ambassador from the Netherlands. Nevermind that the citizen was drunk, that he was propositioning the President's future bride, that he was following all the textbook moves toward sexual harassment.  
  
She still wasn't sure how Jed had gotten there and acted before the secret service stopped him. And she wasn't sure she minded that he had. It had been startling, and unexpected, and exciting - and sweet - and sexy.  
  
He had defended her, protected her honor, but at what price?  
  
"Mister President?" Ron had returned, holding a small black case in his hand.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Found this on the attacker, Sir." He held out the case and Jed lifted it with his undamaged hand.  
  
"Damn."  
  
Damn was not a good response. He looked inside for another few seconds, then extended it to her. Inside rested the credentials of a member of the press. Well, sort of.  
  
Tyson G. Travinsky Field Reporter  
  
The Star  
  
Damn.  
  
How the hell was C.J. going to spin this? 


	2. Chapter Two

Thanks to those of you who are reading this and letting me know. I really appreciate the feedback. Hope you continue to enjoy it.  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: "Galileo," "Gone Quiet" Rating: R Disclaimer: I didn't create, nor do I own, any of these characters. But I love them anyway.  
  
Beauty and Honor - Chapter Two A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
She was never quite sure how it had happened, but no mention of her unpleasant experience ever surfaced, either on CNN or even in The Star. The closest story was a strange article in that tabloid, suggesting that the President had once been a prizefighter in a previous life, an insinuation that Jed found immensely satisfying.  
  
Of course, it could have had something to do with a meeting Ron Butterfield, C.J. Cregg, and Leo McGarry held with Mr. Tyson G. Travinsky, laying out the possible results of assault charges for attacking the future First Lady of the United States. Whatever had done the trick, Donna was forever grateful, and could now focus on the last few hours she would spend as Donna Moss.  
  
Already at Camp David, she had flown out on Marine One Friday afternoon, meeting her parents there for a joyful, yet somewhat unbelievable reunion. Her mother was having difficulty enough comprehending that her little girl was getting married. The fact that her future son-in-law was the most powerful man in the world merely added to her incredulity. Still, Donna figured she wouldn't repeat the mistake of referring to him as "Jeff." According to plan, Jed would arrive later that evening and the ceremony would begin at 11:00 a.m. Eastern Time, the next day. Everything seemed in order. C.J. had taken charge of publicity and of preparations for the layout.  
  
After she had settled her folks into their room, she opened her suitcase, grinning as she emptied it of its questionable contents. Margaret had taken it upon herself to become Donna's personal dresser, selecting the appropriate accessories for her attire, including something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. The old was easy. Her mother's pearls, a strand her father had given her as a wedding present, hung in classic elegance around her neck. The new was also simple: a rose- colored Donna Karan suit that she felt was appropriate for the circumstances. Even the borrowed fell into place. An ivory comb that held her hair in an easy sweep from her face, surprising compliments of Ellie Bartlet.  
  
But the blue was something else entirely. Margaret, face both wicked and flushed at once, had thrust a gift bag into her hands that morning before she left. Rummaging through the crinkling tissue, she pulled out an intimate set of pale blue lingerie, garters, camisole, bra, all of which screamed sex.  
  
"Margaret!"  
  
Her friend blushed deeper, but defended her gift. "You'll thank me for this later."  
  
She held them up dubiously. "They'll show through my suit. It's light colored."  
  
"No they won't. Already checked it out. You're safe - at least until the President sees you in those."  
  
Now they both blushed, laughing at the very accurate prediction.  
  
Clutching them to her chest, she took a moment to press her lips together, closing her eyes and just standing there.  
  
"You okay?" Margaret's voice was tentative, but reassuring, nevertheless.  
  
"I just can't believe - "  
  
"You and me both."  
  
"It seems like yesterday you were announcing to all of LaFayette Park that I had slept with the President, and now - "  
  
Margaret lifted a brow. "And now - gee, what's changed?"  
  
She slapped her friend on the arm and packed her new garments, self- consciously sliding them under a set of much more conservative underwear.  
  
"I think that -" But she couldn't finish the sentence. The wave of nausea that had begun accosting her about that time of day hit and she forgot about Margaret, the lingerie, and especially the humor as she darted to the bathroom, skidding to a stop over the toilet just in time.  
  
"Donna?"  
  
Give me a break, here, Margaret. Can't you see I'm busy?  
  
"Donna? You okay?"  
  
Nothing a few more months and an epidural won't cure.  
  
Finally, losing her dry toast and apple juice from breakfast, she rinsed her face, brushed her teeth and rejoined her friend, a little shaky, but better.  
  
"Geez," Margaret grimaced, "that didn't sound pleasant."  
  
"It was probably worse in the bathroom," Donna noted, a little more sarcastically than she had intended.  
  
It wasn't Margaret's fault she had morning sickness. It was her own fault. No, no, they weren't going there again. Jed had already berated her for feeling guilty, responsible. He had made it clear in no uncertain terms that he was absolutely thrilled about the baby, planned or not, and had threatened to assign her back to Josh's office if she mentioned guilt again.  
  
"How long should it last?" her friend wondered, helping her pack the rest of her clothes.  
  
"Only a few more weeks, I hope. Although some people are sick the whole time." She sincerely hoped she wasn't one of them.  
  
Margaret winced in sympathy. "How horrible."  
  
But she definitely felt better and took the moment to speak candidly. "In all the scrambling to get ready, I don't have a maid of honor. Would you do that for me, Margaret? I know this is sudden, that we put this whole thing together quickly, but - "  
  
She couldn't finish because she found herself almost crushed in an embrace, Margaret's choked "Thank you" muttered over and over in her ear. When she was finally released, she blinked at the tears in those eyes.  
  
"Oh, Donna. I'll be there for you. Don't worry."  
  
She grinned, not realizing how much this meant to Margaret and pleased to be able to bring such joy to a person who meant so much to her.  
  
Later, she watched, amazed, as Washington shrank away below her. Her first ride on Marine One. The first of many, she figured, still fighting that stunned feeling about the whole thing.  
  
That night she stretched back in the rocking chair Jed had sent with her, a present, he noted with a grin, for her and for the baby. Feet propped and eyes closed, she listened as C.J. prepped her, just as she had prepped the President, on the coming events. Of course everything was in order; she had no doubts about that since the Press Secretary was in charge, but it she still liked knowing exactly what was happening.  
  
"We ran a few pieces of music by the President," C.J. was saying as she scanned her thick notepad. "He approved of anything written more than one hundred and fifty years ago."  
  
Donna smiled. He didn't like contemporary music that masqueraded as classical. According to Charlie, his exact words were, "Modern music sucks." The only exception was something an Icelandic composer had written for him a couple of years ago, but that was strictly an exception.  
  
"Mostly Bach," C.J. continued, unaware of Donna's musings. "And a few classical hymn arrangements performed by a string quartet from the New York Philharmonic."  
  
She let this sink in and decided to voice her one thought. "Wow."  
  
C.J. looked up now and grinned. "Yeah," she agreed, and for a long moment, they just sat in silence.  
  
But their reflection was interrupted abruptly by the harsh ring of the phone. Her eyes met C.J.'s briefly before she lifted the receiver, and they exchanged a wary glance, both anticipating the same thing.  
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Hey." Damn. Before he had said anything else, she knew what it meant. Jed on the phone meant no Jed in person.  
  
"Hey."  
  
"Watcha doin'?"  
  
With another glance toward C.J., she answered, trying to keep the obvious disappointment out of her tone. "C.J.'s here going over tomorrow, but mainly we're just waiting for you."  
  
Hell, she shouldn't have said that. She knew perfectly well why he was calling and now she had just heaped guilt on the regret already clear in his voice.  
  
"Yeah, well, that's why I called."  
  
"Yeah."  
  
The sigh at his end was painfully audible. "Yeah. I - uh - won't make it tonight."  
  
"Yeah." What else could she say? Now C.J. cleared her throat and rose to leave. Donna waved her back down.  
  
"I'm sorry, Donna. I'll explain when I get there."  
  
"Which will be?"  
  
Another sigh. "I don't know. Morning. Maybe later tonight, after all. I just don't know."  
  
"Okay." She tried to fight down the ache that pushed at her gut, tried to suppress the tears in her eyes. She wasn't normally so emotional, knew it was probably crazy hormones. "Okay. I'll see you when you get here."  
  
"Donna?" he asked, and she felt his concern through the phone line.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You feel all right?"  
  
She smiled, wiping away a tear that had stubbornly fallen anyway. "I'm fine."  
  
"Still sick?"  
  
A glance at C.J. She tried to be subtle. "Not tonight. That's just - you know - in the mornings." Okay, not as subtle as she intended. Now the Press Secretary's head popped up before she could stop it. Donna lowered her eyes.  
  
"Donna?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"I'll be there. I love you."  
  
More tears, unstoppable this time. She nodded, even though he couldn't see her, and managed, "I love you, too."  
  
"Good night."  
  
The receiver clicked back on the cradle and Donna gathered herself before facing C.J. When she did, she found an expression of sympathy, understanding, and a little shock waiting her.  
  
"How far along?" her friend wanted to know.  
  
"About six weeks."  
  
"Who knows?"  
  
Wiping at her face, Donna counted off the people who were aware of her condition. "Jed, Leo, Ron, Margaret, and probably a few EMTs who worked on Jed at my apartment."  
  
"How do the EMTs know?" Alarm cut though her tone.  
  
Donna grinned sheepishly. "Jed told them."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Well, he was a little woozy. He'd just come to."  
  
C.J.'s brow rose sharply. "So the stitches weren't from the blades of Marine One hitting him in the head?"  
  
Donna's mouth gaped. "He told you that?"  
  
"Well, I sort of figured it wasn't true." She grinned now. "It's an old joke. But seriously, we told the press he tripped and hit a coffee table."  
  
"True."  
  
"At your apartment, though?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"After you told him - "  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Ah."  
  
The Press Secretary seemed hesitant for a moment, but asked her question anyway. "How does - how does he feel about it?"  
  
This one Donna knew for certain. She shrugged. "He's thrilled. I was scared to death to tell him. I had been using - well, I just got so busy with the tobacco cases and - I forgot - anyway -"  
  
C.J.'s hand touched her gently. "Good," she said, and her voice held genuine happiness. "Good for him. And for you, I hope?"  
  
"Oh, yes," she assured her. That was true, too. She couldn't describe the joy of knowing that she carried his child, that they had made this incredible life together, and that he wanted it just as much as she did. "I'll need your help, though," she told the Press Secretary. "Jed doesn't care if people know, but I know what complications it would cause, what criticism he would catch. He does, too. He just doesn't care, I don't think."  
  
"Don't worry about it right now," C.J. said, patting her hand. "Just enjoy tomorrow. We'll - deal with the other later." She rose and gathered her notes in her hand. "Get some rest."  
  
She fully intended to, because she had a feeling she wasn't going to get much the next night.  
  
She awoke to voices outside her door, not quite angry, but certainly agitated. Keeping her eyes closed a little longer, she listened.  
  
"Where the hell is he?" C.J. spat out, obviously trying to be quiet, but not succeeding at all.  
  
"He'll be here. He'll be here. I'm - pretty sure." That was Josh. Wait a minute. What did he mean by 'pretty sure'?  
  
C.J. asked the same question, only much louder. "Josh! He's getting married in three hours and you tell me you're 'pretty sure' he'll be here!"  
  
"Leo said -"  
  
"Leo better have said he was calling you from the chopper, my man."  
  
Donna heard the bemused tone in Josh's voice. "See, I haven't figured out yet how this is my fault. I'm here, aren't I?"  
  
But C.J. wasn't playing his game. "I don't so much care that you're here, Joshua. I just care that the groom is NOT here. Okay? Now you get on the phone with Leo or Ron or the 82nd Airborne - whoever the hell can GET him here."  
  
Apparently, Josh chose wisely to act instead of respond verbally because Donna heard quick footsteps, then her door eased open.  
  
"Donna?"  
  
She blinked and looked up to see C.J. peering in. "Is Jed not here?" Okay, don't panic yet. Wait to see if C.J. is panicked first.  
  
"Uh - no, but I'm sure he's - on his way. I sent Josh to - to -" All right. Maybe it was time to panic.  
  
"C.J.?"  
  
Now she entered all the way and Donna saw that she was already dressed. Wait a minute. What time was it? Oh God. Had C.J. said she was getting married in three hours?  
  
"He'll be here, Donna. Leo called to say there were - complications. It seems North Korea insists on doing things the hard way. Not very good timing, huh?"  
  
Not at all.  
  
Two and a half hours later she stood in her suit, afraid to sit for fear of wrinkling it, afraid to ask again if he was there yet, afraid she'd get the same answer she had the previous six times. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe the reason Jed wasn't here was because it was a dream and she wasn't really about to marry the President of the United States and she wasn't really pregnant and she wasn't even at Camp David. The infamous Dallas episode flashed through her mind, the one where a whole season had apparently been a nightmare and the next one opened with Bobby in the shower.  
  
Or maybe he had changed his mind. Maybe he actually thought about what he was doing, what he was getting into. Maybe Leo would come in in a minute and offer to buy her off, put her up in an apartment somewhere with a monthly income and - Dear Lord, what was she doing?  
  
The burst of activity outside interrupted her thoughts and Margaret dashed in the room without even knocking.  
  
"He's here!" she announced breathlessly.  
  
She knew it. Never doubted it.  
  
Now that the time had finally arrived, Donna couldn't suppress the joy that surged through her, racing to shoot from her toes, her fingertips, her hair, throwing sparkles of tingling excitement across her skin. She heard her cue, felt the gentle nudge from Zoey, who had helped Margaret dress her. The acceptance of Jed's children had been unexpected, but incredibly satisfying. Even Liz had come, whispering thanks for making their father happy.  
  
Now she stepped out into the crisp morning, the fingers of sunlight stretching through emerald leaves of the Shenandoah Valley, leaving spotlights on the concrete patio that waited before her. And on that patio stood her lover, her friend, the father of her child, and, in just a few moments, her husband.  
  
If he was harried from his chaotic morning, no one could tell. He looked wonderful, dressed in a well-fitting navy suit, his tie a subdued splash of burgundy with tiny print, his hands clasped in front of him, waiting to take hers. He had apparently gotten the stitches out just that morning, or maybe the night before, and the doctor had been right; the scar rested mostly in his brow, only a thin line stretched above it for less than an inch. And the frank appreciation that sparkled in those blue eyes under that brow when he saw her merely served to stir the desire in her that this ceremony be done quickly so the honeymoon could begin.  
  
Margaret walked before her, bouquet in hand, his ring thrust onto her thumb. Leo flanked Jed on one side. The service was simple, the priest brief, the guest list limited to close family, friends, and only a few select members of the media. CNN had a camera crew that was pledged to release the footage no sooner than one hour after the ceremony ended.  
  
She was suddenly conscious of her abdomen, although she knew she was not showing yet, wondered if anyone who didn't know suspected. Wondered if the three EMTs who had inadvertently heard Jed's woozy exclamation in her apartment would say anything. Well, she couldn't worry about that, now. If they were lucky, it would remain speculation. She was only six weeks, anyway, and if the baby was late, people might just assume it was a honeymoon baby. Maybe.  
  
Of course, this was her own hope, her own plan. Jed could not care less, had told her it didn't matter to him, much to Leo's anxious protests. She had almost been afraid he would call a press conference to announce to the world that his fiancé was pregnant and that he had done it. Well, maybe not. But she had never seen him so excited.  
  
Her gaze rested on him now as she approached, lightly grasping her father's arm. His eyes shone, his lips curved in a smile that he tried with little success to keep from blossoming into a full-blown grin. God, he was handsome. And sexy. And, and - okay, concentrate, she told herself. Concentrate.  
  
Now the string quartet concluded the strains of Bach's "Air on the G String" - she figured Jed had picked that out - and her father kissed her gently before returning to sit with her mother. Jed's hand touched hers, grasped it firmly and he lifted it to his lips for a brief kiss. This was pure impulse on his part and he seemed suddenly embarrassed at the instinct, but she smiled and hoped her eyes gave the reassurance she intended.  
  
The priest began. No full mass. They had both agreed. Only the basic ceremony. No personal vows, just those in the classic wedding service. And when the "I do's" were completed, and the rings exchanged, and the priest pronounced them husband and wife, they turned to each other, both a little stunned that it had really happened. Jed took her face in his hands and she rested hers against his chest as their lips met gently. For a long moment his mouth moved softly on hers, then he withdrew, eyes claiming her just as his lips had done. The guests broke into enthusiastic applause when he kissed her once more, this one a little harder, but still not too long. Then the music began again, and as had been planned, they simply strolled around the patio, greeting guests, holding hands, and, occasionally, sharing another kiss.  
  
The faces blurred together as people marched by, congratulating them, bestowing hugs and kisses. More than once she observed Jed catching a teasing poke in the ribs from a senator or two and was somehow pleased to see his unamused reaction. The afternoon's festivities included an impromptu concert by the string quartet, who in a surprisingly eclectic move, ditched violins for brass and bass and broke into some light jazz as the party loosened. As twilight settled over the valley, the sounds grew more muffled, muted, and eventually the celebration ended.  
  
The press had long before rushed to print or air, the guests were gone, or at least settled in for the evening. Ron had bid them goodnight, positioning their agents a little bit farther away than usual. Donna flushed at his consideration, knowing the reasoning behind the move. When the door closed she turned, her breath catching at the expression on her husband's face.  
  
Her husband. Wow! What a thought. What an incredible thought.  
  
His eyes had darkened now, had taken on a dangerous, exciting glow. They fairly smoldered. Her body tingled again at the promise she saw in those depths. Stepping toward him, she felt alive, renewed, adventurous. With slow, deliberate motions, she unbuttoned the pale rose jacket, revealing the lacy, delicate, periwinkle camisole beneath. He remained motionless, having already deposited his coat on a nearby chair, but she was pretty sure she saw the eyes glow a little brighter. Now she slipped off the pumps, the skirt and watched in delight as he ran his gaze down the stockings and garters she had, with Margaret's encouragement, donned earlier that day.  
  
His control slipped, and she saw his mouth open slightly, heard the groan that escaped, noted the material of his pressed trousers tensing around the zipper. Yep, Margaret had been right on the money with that gift. She'd have to remember to thank her.  
  
Somehow, he wrestled his body back under temporary control and stepped to a table, lifting the decanter and pouring two glasses of brandy. As he held them, she eased close, her fingers reaching for his tie, loosening the knot, sliding it from his collar. He smelled subtly of aftershave and fresh laundry. Still not taking her glass, she ran her hands down his shirtfront, releasing the lower buttons. Her tongue licked slowly across his stomach, her teeth tugged at the hair running down toward the waistband.  
  
He whispered her name as she pressed her lips to the hardness that pushed insistently against the fabric of his pants. He groaned her name as she unbuckled his belt and eased open the zipper, slipping his boxers down. And he gasped her name as she took him in her mouth.  
  
"Oh, God, Donna," he managed to get out. "Take this drink before I drop it."  
  
She pulled away, grinning, and stood, accepting the glass from him and setting it, untouched, on the table. "No alcohol, remember?" she said and he nodded.  
  
The haze had begun to clear from his eyes, but no other signs of his excitement diminished at all. She pulled at his shirt, suddenly frantic to feel him, to have his bare skin against hers. He set his own glass down, then raised his arms to finish unbuttoning and aid in the removal before he was choked to death in her haste.  
  
The knock at the door was impossibly clear. Still, for a moment, Donna thought she must have imagined it. Surely it could not have been real.  
  
But there it was again. Clear and solid.  
  
"What the hell-" Jed turned, unbelieving, toward the sound.  
  
If she hadn't been so frustrated herself, Donna might have found some sympathy in her heart for the foolish intruder. But not tonight. Not now.  
  
"Whoever the hell that is had better have his - or her - things packed by morning!" Jed yelled, and Donna wasn't sure that he was kidding.  
  
"Mister President?"  
  
Leo.  
  
"Leo, are you insane?" her husband asked, still not opening the door. By now she had scrambled into a silk robe, knowing it would be useless to assume they could continue anytime soon.  
  
"That is a strong possibility, Mister President," the Chief of Staff admitted.  
  
Not bothering to grab his own robe, Jed pulled his pants back up, flung open the door and stood, bare-chested before his former best friend. Donna figured he wanted to make it clear to Leo just what he had interrupted, as if the red-faced man had any doubts.  
  
"I know, Mister President," he began, voice heavy with apology and regret, "that this is the worst possible timing."  
  
"Really?" Sarcasm was one of Jed's fluent languages.  
  
"Korea," he said simply.  
  
Now the atmosphere changed with an immediate snap. "They blinked?"  
  
Who blinked? And was blinking good or bad? Suddenly, concern for a much more serious situation swallowed Donna's moment of self-pity.  
  
Leo nodded. "Fitz is on his way. Nancy's here already. I'm sorry."  
  
Donna saw the quick nod from the man with whom she had planned to spend a passionate night of love. "On my way," he said and Leo left with one more apology.  
  
He turned, personal regret mixing with global burden on his face. "Donna-"  
  
"Go," she said. "I heard. Go."  
  
"I wish-"  
  
"Go. I'll be waiting when you get back."  
  
"I'm sorry." And he looked sorry, for himself and for her.  
  
Picking his shirt from the floor, she handed it to him, then slid one arm around his neck, using the other to draw his hand between her legs, so he could feel for himself how ready she was for him. Kissing him hard, she arched against him once more before moving away.  
  
"Oh man," he breathed raggedly. "I am really sorry."  
  
With a deep sigh, he leaned against the doorframe in an attempt to gain some control over his body. After a full minute, he threw her a regretful grin, and stepped through the door, pulling on the shirt as he went. She smiled at the vision of Fitzwallace and Nancy McNally greeting their half- dressed President in whatever room at Camp David served as the temporary Situation Room. She knew there would be stifled snickers tonight, but a more sobering thought overshadowed that as she remembered why he was going. Korea. It sounded as if some limit had been reached, some expected action had occurred. What were they facing? What was Jed facing?  
  
She picked up his jacket, gathering it in her hands, taking in his lingering scent. Maybe it was nothing. Just a bluff, just a mistake. Maybe. She hoped so. She really did.  
  
Because she was horrified at the possibility of war with a country that had nuclear capabilities.  
  
Because she dreaded the stress and burden such a war would place on Jed.  
  
And because this was a really crappy way to spend a wedding night. 


	3. Chapter Three

Thanks for the encouraging comments, as usual.  
  
POV: Donna Spoilers: AISTTC (only minorly) Rating: R Disclaimer: I love Jed and Donna, but I don't own them, nor did I create them.  
  
Beauty and Honor - Chapter Three A West Wing Story  
  
by MAHC  
  
Could that damned clock possibly move any slower, Donna wondered, glaring at it for at least the fifth time since he left. She sighed, drawing the silk robe tighter around her and stretched out on the bed.  
  
Their bed.  
  
A bed she was miserably alone in at the moment.  
  
On her wedding night.  
  
Snapping a curse that expressed both disappointment and frustration, she snatched a magazine off the pile Margaret had brought for her that morning to calm her nerves before the wedding. Escapist reading, she figured. Well, she needed that now, because there were certainly no escapist activities going on where she was.  
  
After Jed was called away by Leo about North Damn Korea, she had fought for a long time to calm her body, to quell the electric anticipation that her husband's touches had triggered. It worked maybe a little. Maybe.  
  
With another sigh, she flipped the pages of the periodical, not really even reading. Surely Jed would make the trip as quick as possible. She thought back to his irritated response to the interruption and knew he was as anxious as she was. It had been several days since they had been alone together and this was supposed to be their honeymoon.  
  
Even though she had told herself it was part of the price she paid for falling in love with the President of the United States, she still couldn't help but be frustrated that every time they seemed to have a moment, something happened, something that-  
  
Oh God! The article headline screamed at her, forced her fingers to crumple pages in an effort to scratch her way back through the magazine. Her heart raced, pumped hard as the words slapped her.  
  
"The Truth Behind the Bartlet Marriage: Presidential Paternity"  
  
Oh no! Frantically, she scanned the story, cheeks burning as the author laid out the accusation that Josiah Bartlet had, indeed, had an affair with Donna Moss, had gotten her pregnant and then been forced to marry her. It continued to list key senior staff as sources, insinuating even that Jed Bartlet was responding to a blackmail attempt and shutting her up by giving her the power and prestige of being First Lady.  
  
Her blood both boiled and ran cold at once, if that was possible. Twisting the crinkled cover around, she seethed in anger as the bold familiar logo of The Star stared back at her. These guys just wouldn't give up! Still, if they were reporting this, the chances that the real media might be looking, too, were good. How long would it be before this was plastered all over every newspaper in the country, before CNN ran it, before C.J. was forced to make a statement. And what would that statement be? What could they say, except the truth? What would that do to Jed? To the country? Old fears returned in full force.  
  
A knock at the door drew her attention. "Donna?"  
  
Leo.  
  
She gulped, shoving the paper behind her in a vain effort to destroy the very existence of the information. "Yeah?"  
  
"May I come in?"  
  
No. Go away. I don't want to see anybody except my husband. "Yeah."  
  
He eased his head in, perhaps making sure she was actually decent. "The President is stuck with Fitzwallace still. Things - well, there are more complications." His eyes seemed unable to meet hers. "Look, Donna, something's happened, something that - we need to talk about. C.J. told me - there's an article - "  
  
"The Star again," she acknowledged.  
  
"No."  
  
"No?"  
  
"No. C.J. tells me the Atlanta Constitution will break it tomorrow."  
  
"What's the story?" She braced for his answer.  
  
"I think you know."  
  
Oh God!  
  
"They have your medical records, apparently. They know you're pregnant and they know the President is the father, and they know when."  
  
Oh God! From some strangely calm mouth, she heard her response. "Who else has it?"  
  
"TIME. The Post. The New York Times. U.S.A. Today. A few others."  
  
Dear Lord! "What does this mean?"  
  
He looked straight at her now, not hedging a bit. "Congressional talks, hearings perhaps. I don't know. Impeachment maybe, depending - Certainly the Republicans will attack his morals, will bring up the honesty issues again."  
  
"Oh, Leo. He - he'll be humiliated. I can't let them do that. I can't - "  
  
"There's no spin on this, Donna," he explained, then looked at her again, eyes hard, accusing. "No defense except the truth and that won't wash either - so Jed's decided to step down, to accept responsibility. He's already called Hoynes."  
  
What? What? "Leo! He can't - That will kill him. He'll be ruined. I've ruined him."  
  
Leo stared at her, then nodded. "Yes," he agreed coldly. "Yes, you have."  
  
She flung herself into the pillows, sobs choking her, fists pounding the sheets. "I've ruined him! I've ruined him! I've ruined him!" She couldn't stop, couldn't believe this had happened. It couldn't be true. It couldn't.  
  
"You have ruined him, Donna," Leo snarled, grabbing her shoulders and pulling her back up. "You have ruined him."  
  
"No!" She tried to pull away, tried to hide her face, but he wouldn't let go.  
  
"It's your fault."  
  
"No! No!"  
  
"Your fault."  
  
"No!" Please, oh please let go. Please!  
  
"Donna!" Hands held her tight, shook her. Her head swam; darkness swirled around her. Her heart ached, was bursting.  
  
"Oh, Jed! I'm sorry!" she cried out. "I'm sorry!"  
  
"Donna! Wake up!"  
  
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!"  
  
"Donna!"  
  
She stopped, gasping, and found herself looking up into the clear blue eyes of her husband as he stared anxiously at her. He held her by the shoulders, shaking gently. "Donna?"  
  
Allowing herself a quick scan, she realized they were alone. No Leo.  
  
"Oh Jed!" She clutched at him, threw her arms around his neck, planted kisses on his face, in his hair. "Jed! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry!"  
  
"Sorry about what?" Laughing softly, he managed to pull away from the frantic caresses. "Gee, I would have come back earlier if I had known this was going to be my greeting." Then he saw the tears and reached up to brush them away. "It's okay. Just a nightmare. A bad dream. Must have been a doozie."  
  
A nightmare? A nightmare! Oh thank you, God! Thank you! She looked at him, convincing herself he really was there, that everything was all right. It really was just a dream.  
  
He must have been undressing when he heard her; his shirt had already been tossed on a chair back, his shoes and socks kicked under the same chair. His belt hung, unbuckled, from the loops and, although his pants were still zipped, the button gaped open.  
  
"I'm here, now," he assured her. "I'm here. Want to talk about it?"  
  
She reached behind her for the magazine. Not there. Probably never was. Had she read that and then fallen asleep - or just dreamed the whole thing? She shook her head. "No. It was just a dream."  
  
His frown let her know he had guessed the problem. "What have I told you about that?"  
  
"I know, but what happens when - "  
  
"Donna - " he warned.  
  
" - when I start to show?" she finished anyway. "People can count, Jed. There will be speculation."  
  
"Let them speculate."  
  
"But - "  
  
He swished a finger in front of her face. "Remember what I said."  
  
"But - "  
  
"Josh. Senior assistant."  
  
Now she smiled.  
  
"Okay?" he asked, head bent so that his eyes had to cut upward to see her. He usually looked at her this way from over his glasses, but he did it without them now.  
  
"Okay."  
  
"Okay," he echoed. "I think you need a little - distraction." His hands ran over her waist, pulling her against him. "Get your mind on - something else, hmmm?"  
  
Still trying to calm her pounding heart, she was grateful for the shift in focus. She had no doubt at all he could distract her. He kissed her gently, his fingers dancing down her arms, tugging at the robe tie, sliding the silk material from her shoulders.  
  
"You're not supposed to spend your wedding night having bad dreams," he teased.  
  
"Maybe you can give me some good ones to make me forget," she decided, gaining an affirmative chuckle from him.  
  
As she leaned back, her gaze fell on the clock and she realized with surprise that he had not really been gone very long. "Do I have North Korea or Admiral Fitzwallace to thank for getting you back to me so soon?"  
  
"Maybe both," he murmured through lips that were already sliding down her neck, anxious to pick up where he left off two hours before.  
  
And she wanted nothing better than to let him steal the breath from her, re- ignite the fires that were still smoldering from earlier in the evening. But her disturbing dream had left her feeling uninformed, out of the loop, and she needed some answers, even now, even before --  
  
Placing a restraining hand gently against his chest, she asked, "Jed, what's going on?"  
  
He lifted his head from nuzzling her ear and grinned. "Well, if you have to ask I must not be doing it right."  
  
God, he was good looking, especially with the hair falling into his eyes and that mischievous smirk. It took all her strength not to just surrender right then. But she had waited too long, had suffered too many lost or delayed moments and he at least owed her the reason why.  
  
He grunted in surprise and disappointment as she sat up. "I want to know what's going on with Korea."  
  
"Korea? Holy Mother - " The frustration fairly radiated from him as he ran a hand roughly through his hair and sat back. "That damned country is going to be the death of me," he growled.  
  
Well, that was one of the things she was afraid of.  
  
He tried again, reaching for her. "This is not exactly the distraction I had in mind," he noted ruefully.  
  
"Do you trust me?" That wasn't playing fair, but she could see that it worked.  
  
Now his eyes softened and he took her hands in his. "Of course I trust you, Donna. It's just that - there are some things I can't tell you." His gaze dropped to the covers and his voice fell. "There were things I couldn't tell Abbey, either." Regret filled the broken tones.  
  
"I understand." And she really did.  
  
"North Korea," he began, despite his earlier statement.  
  
"You don't have to -"  
  
"I can tell you this," he explained, pulling her down with him onto a chair so that she sat in his lap. As he spoke, she ran her fingers through the hair on his chest and marveled at the intimacy of just being with him.  
  
"For years we've suspected that North Korea is either on the verge of having, or actually has, nuclear weapons capabilities. There is an underground site at a place called Kumchang-ri northwest of Yongbyon. It's supposed to be frozen."  
  
"Frozen?" As in really cold? Probably not time for humor. Better just to listen.  
  
"No activity. Almost certainly they are violating the 1994 Agreement Framework that provides U.S. inspection rights."  
  
"They're not letting us in?"  
  
He shrugged. "Well, yes and no."  
  
Of course. Couldn't be that easy.  
  
"In 1999, we offered food and economic assistance in return for access. We also threatened to stop heavy-fuel oil shipments. There have been visits, but - "  
  
"You still don't trust them." Obviously.  
  
He shook his head and she saw the burden of his office sinking onto his shoulders. "Intel says they have produced enough plutonium for at least one, possibly two nuclear weapons."  
  
She gasped at that revelation. Maybe there were some things she really didn't want to know. For a quick moment a strange, surreal wave swept over her. Dear Lord! This was the President of the United States. This man who was speaking of U.S. inspection rights and international politics. This man whose conversation consisted of world trade agreements and nuclear power. This man whose hands at that very moment were gliding up her thighs.  
  
"IAEA still has not been given complete inspections."  
  
Somehow, she managed to focus again on his words. "IAEA?"  
  
"International Atomic Energy Agency," he explained, grasping her hips and letting his thumbs circle gently on either side of her navel. "I don't think they ever intend to comply totally."  
  
How could he continue to talk about North Korea? Did he not see that his touches set her on fire? She was beginning to regret even asking the original question.  
  
Gulping, she fought to remain in the conversation. "Because?" But she knew.  
  
"Because they plan to make a nuclear bomb." He stated it flat out. Bottom line.  
  
Nuclear bomb. "Has - has something happened recently?"  
  
His hands dropped, and even though she was disappointed, she was able to concentrate more on what he was telling her. "Possible satellite detection of activity at Yongbyon. Could mean they're almost ready to test."  
  
Not good. Her mind searched back to their untimely interruption. "You asked Leo if they blinked. What did you mean?"  
  
He smiled in a humorless gesture, taking a strand of her hair and twirling it around his fingers. "We gave them an ultimatum: freeze production or we pull out all economic and food aid and reinforce DMZ troops. An obvious battle status for the world to see."  
  
"And?"  
  
"They froze. At least Fitz assures me they are in the process of freezing."  
  
Okay. That's good, right?  
  
"So," he sighed, "we're really back where we started." Now he looked up at her and seemed to be aware, for the first time, of the patterns her fingers were running over his chest. "I'm sorry their timing sucked."  
  
"Me, too." A smirk played on her lips. "Did Nancy McNally or Admiral Fitz give you a hard time?"  
  
Another smile spread across his face, genuine this time. "Baby, you were the one that gave me a hard time."  
  
She colored at his pun. Then she realized exactly what he had said and also saw that he was unaware he had even said it.  
  
Baby.  
  
Until now he had never referred to her in any other way except by her name. No endearments. Not "dear" or "sweetheart." The realization touched her and she fought to keep it from showing on her face. She didn't want him to feel uncomfortable.  
  
She wanted him to do it again.  
  
"Actually," he admitted, letting his fingers creep up her sides, "Fitz was pretty blunt." His blush told her she probably didn't want to know exactly what the Head of the Joint Chiefs had said. "But Nancy seemed truly apologetic. Told me to tell you she was really sorry."  
  
Wow! The National Security Advisor apologizing to her. So much to get used to.  
  
Now her hands began to move away from his chest, sliding lower. "Sorry enough to leave us alone for awhile?" She slipped inside his trousers, stretching the elastic band of his underwear.  
  
"She'd better be," he growled, leaning forward to kiss her.  
  
She met his lips hard, her frustrations of the past few days manifested in complete lack of patience. No more waiting. No more interruptions. Korea could go to hell, at least for the next couple of hours. He would be hers now, she determined, dropping her fingers to feel the re-ignition of energy between his legs - or maybe he had never been un-ignited.  
  
Time to get this show going. Ignoring his grunt of protest when she stopped, she took his hand, pulling him toward the bed and urging him onto it. He acquiesced, allowing her to finish the enjoyable task of unzipping his pants and pulling them and his underwear down his body. Before he could stand again, she stretched out on top of him, the silk of her lingerie sliding erotically against his skin.  
  
His hands traced up her thighs, fingered the garters, eased under the camisole, then pulled it over her head, his lips almost immediately taking in a nipple and sucking luxuriously.  
  
"Ow!"  
  
He stopped immediately, looking up at her with a question on his lips, but before he could ask, she smiled weakly and explained, "They're a little sore."  
  
A look of almost unbearable tenderness touched his eyes and he nodded, leaning forward to kiss her stomach softly, then dragging his tongue back up to circle in gentle caresses around the nipple again. This time, sparks of desire shot through her breast and pulsed between her legs. Now he turned her to the side, moved down her body, mouth trailing sparks as he went, until he touched the swollen folds, barely letting his tongue flick against her. She gasped and tried to arch up, but he drew back. She relaxed and he moved in again. This time, she held his head in place and pushed against his touch.  
  
"Oh, God! That's - that's -" She couldn't actually pull the words to her lips.  
  
The exquisite feeling stopped. She looked down in distress. Please keep going! But his eyes had grown smoky, clouded, and she saw the need in them. Coaxing him up with her legs and hands, she lay on top of him again, rubbing against his erection that was caught between them, a hot brand against her hips, jerking at her touch, spreading moisture against their skin.  
  
Okay, this was moving fast. Running her middle finger up and down the velvet flesh, she felt him harden fully, heard his moan. His hands slid to her buttocks, pressed her into him but it wasn't enough. They both wanted this. They both needed this. Now.  
  
His mouth claimed hers and without breaking the kiss he shifted, twisting so he was above her, nudging her legs apart, lowering his hips to hers. They were both slick, both way past ready. But he slid himself against her once, then held still.  
  
She looked up in protest. Please don't stop! Please don't!  
  
"Donna," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his eyes moist. "Donnatella - Moss - Bartlet."  
  
She grinned. That sounded so good.  
  
"I love you." But the words were unnecessary. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his body.  
  
Sighing in complete contentment, she breathed, "I know."  
  
A small laugh escaped her and his brow rose in question. She smiled. "Who would have thought?" she wondered silently. "Who could have imagined I would be here with Josiah Bartlet?"  
  
She looked down, ran her eyes over his body braced above hers. "When we first - made love - " she said. "Well, I have a confession to make."  
  
He let his hips brush against hers, somehow calming his body, slowing the pace, reminding her of the pleasure that awaited them. "What?"  
  
With difficulty, she hung on to her train of thought. "I told her. I told Margaret."  
  
His brow rose a little, the pink scar shifting with the motion. "Ah. That explains some strange looks I got from her - strange even for Margaret."  
  
"Yeah, well, she didn't tell anybody. I know that."  
  
"It's okay, Donna," he assured her, buzzing her neck with his lips. "What did she say? If you want to tell me, that is."  
  
Another laugh. "I believe her exact words were, 'Oh my God!'."  
  
Jed chuckled, too. "I don't think I'll ask why. I'll let my ego remain ignorantly happy."  
  
This time her brow rose. What did he think she would have said? "Jed, look at me."  
  
"Oh, Baby, I've been looking at you all day."  
  
Baby. He did it again, as if it he had always done it, and suddenly she was Baby. His Baby. She liked it.  
  
Smiling, she ran her hand along his chin, drawing his face up to hers. "You know what I mean. Look at me."  
  
He let his eyes focus straight into hers and she made sure he could see the sincerity there. "Jed Bartlet, I have never felt this way before. I've never felt so warm, so secure, so loved."  
  
He smiled and started to kiss her again, but she pushed him back, made sure their eyes were locked. "And I have never - ever - had sex so good."  
  
Ah! That did it. It was rare that she could surprise him. It took something big. Three times she had done it before. First by telling him she wanted to sleep with him. Next by telling him she loved him and finally by telling him she was pregnant. Now she grinned as the hot flush swept across his face.  
  
Still, he was Jed Bartlet, and he recovered valiantly, rotating his hips and drawing a gasp from her. "Well, I always try to do my best," he conceded.  
  
Yes. Yes indeed.  
  
"You finished talkin' now?" he asked softly, continuing his deliberate movements against her.  
  
The best she could manage, as the shivers tingled through her, was an incoherent moan.  
  
"I'll take that as a yes." And he braced on his hands, nudging her legs farther apart with one knee.  
  
She expected a hard plunge, a deep thrust, but he kept control, easing into her slowly, careful not to be too rough, not to take a chance. She smiled at his thoughtfulness, at his ability to hold back. He withdrew, then pushed in again, leaning forward to suck on her earlobe, to kiss the tip of her nose, to tug her lower lip between his teeth. Then he pulled back with aching luxury, drawing out of her body just to the tip. He held there until she couldn't bear the teasing and tugged him toward her with her legs. Even then he waited one more beat before he sank inside her again. Her groan carried across the room, probably into the hallway, but she really didn't care. And it continued like that, easy and gentle, much slower than she would have believed possible the way they started.  
  
Occasionally he paused and drew in a shuddering breath, bending down to kiss her, to trace the contours of her face with the tips of his fingers. And sometimes she stopped him, when she felt herself approaching the edge, made him wait until she had subdued her body's urgency. It had never been so good, so amorous, so sensual. And that was saying quite a lot for them. She wasn't sure exactly when the luxuriously slow slides accelerated, but after a very long time, she felt him swing into a faster rhythm, dropping onto his elbows, and she allowed her body to follow his lead as the sensations began climbing over each other with increasing power until they were both carried past any real control. Mouth open in a silent gasp, she teetered for a long moment on the pinnacle, unable to go over, but unwilling to go back, until her straining, screaming muscles erupted into delicious spasms around him, the focus of pleasure at her center bursting and sending ecstasy through her. As the explosion peaked, she found her voice and could not suppress a cry that she knew the agents outside could not have missed.  
  
"Jed!"  
  
At her release, his body tensed, a low, tortured groan rising from deep within as she arched against him. Her name burst from his throat just as the pulses burst into her, carrying his seed, his seed that had already taken root inside her, had already joined with her to form a life, a life from their passion, from their love. Sweat trickled down his face as he thrust into her again and again, trying not to push too hard, but no longer able to control his body's fierce instinct to be buried deep inside her.  
  
Even as the intensity faded, he somehow remained braced on his elbows, rocking gently in and out. Raising a trembling hand, she brushed the scar over his brow, reddened now a little more with his exertions, pushed through the hair at his temple, trailed a finger around his ear, then pulled his head down so she could kiss him as they continued to move together in the soothing aftershocks, his body caressing hers with gentle motions. Finally, he slowly withdrew and rolled off with a reluctant, but satisfied moan. As she felt him slide from her body, she sighed, not wanting to lose the exquisite feel of him inside her.  
  
What was that saying? The anticipation is better than reality. Maybe sometimes. But not always. Not always. This time, anticipation had paled in comparison to reality.  
  
Lying back, he drew her against him, her golden hair falling across his body like a silk fan. She heard the thunder of his heart, felt the dampness of his skin, the hard rise and fall of his chest as his lungs worked to regain normal breathing. And she knew he heard and felt the same from her. This would be a night to remember, the most sensuous, erotic time they had spent together - so far. Boy, though, did she look forward to trying to beat it.  
  
"Jed?"  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
"I love you."  
  
A lazy smile curved his lips. "I love you, too, Donna Bartlet. You okay?"  
  
Oh yeah. "Um hmm."  
  
He shifted so that his hand rested on her hip, fingers tickling chill bumps onto her skin. "Not worried about the dream?"  
  
Don't remind me. "I'm fine. It's just - in it there was this magazine article."  
  
"Oh!" he said, groaning as he eased from under her, sitting up. "C.J. handed this to me on my way back." He stepped to the chair he had dropped his shirt in and lifted a newspaper, extending it toward her.  
  
Eyes widening, she stared at it. Oh, please, no!  
  
"The Post," he explained when she hesitated. "Danny Concanon's story."  
  
"What - what does it say?" Still she couldn't take it.  
  
He grinned, sliding back in beside her. "Says I'm a lucky son of a bitch."  
  
Her eyes flashed up at him, remembering the last time she had heard that phrase, but he kept smiling.  
  
"Well, not in so many words, but that's the gist of it. There's a picture on the front. Not bad actually."  
  
Glancing reluctantly toward him, she saw there was, indeed, a photograph on the front of the paper. The photographer had captured Jed as he lifted her hand and kissed it, that impulsive move, that intimate gesture. Perfect. She had to admit it was very nice.  
  
"Read this part here," Jed was instructing, pointing to a paragraph about halfway through the article.  
  
With a deep breath, she drew it closer, skimming past the byline and the generic reporting of the ceremony. Settling on the indicated passage, she read.  
  
"For those who knew Abigail Bartlet, this was a bittersweet moment. A reminder that she was truly gone, for Jed Bartlet would never have been without her otherwise. But a reassurance that what she had cared for, what she had loved, was cared for and loved again. Donnatella Moss Bartlet has stepped in. She has stepped into the national spotlight. She has stepped into the world arena. But mostly she has stepped into the heart of a President. And given his love of literature, perhaps even the President would acknowledge that William Shakespeare, as is often the case, can be applied for some appropriate observations:  
  
'Beauty and honor in her are so mingled That they have caught the king.'"  
  
Tears pushed down her cheeks, both in relief and in joy. "That's beautiful," she whispered.  
  
"So are you," he returned, kissing the tears, taking the paper from her hands, and tossing it to the floor while he eased her back down to the bed.  
  
Her arms wrapped around him; his mouth remembered to be gentle on her breasts. Soon she was arching up toward him, wanting him again, needing him again. Once more sheer amazement struck as she watched him move over her, as she felt his hard need for her, as she tried to comprehend that the face so close to hers belonged to the President of the United States, to the leader of the free world - to her husband. With a happy sigh, she welcomed him back, urged him inside her again. But just as he moved forward, an all too familiar noise returned.  
  
Impossible! Absolutely impossible!  
  
"Damn it! Damn it to hell!" Teeth gritted, Jed didn't even bother with his pants this time. Instead, he grabbed an afghan from the couch and wrapped it carelessly around his waist while Donna scrambled under the covers.  
  
The door flung open and she saw Leo flush bright red when he saw his President. She was fairly sure she heard him gulp.  
  
"Mister President?" Almost a squeak this time.  
  
"Yeah?" Abrupt. Harsh. Painful.  
  
"Mister President, I'm really sorry."  
  
"What IS it?" Jed demanded, patience non-existent now.  
  
A deep breath. A reluctant response. "Mister President. We have detonations."  
  
Immediate change. Jed's stance even shifted. "What?"  
  
"North Korea, Sir. We have confirmed detonations."  
  
His head dropped, and he braced an arm against the doorframe, clutching the afghan in one hand. His reply was soft, deflated, disappointed. "Ah, hell."  
  
And as he turned and their eyes met, she knew this was more than an inconvenience. More than a frustrated bride and groom. More than a diplomatic irritation.  
  
This was a war.  
  
"Beauty and honor in her are so mingled That they have caught the king."  
  
William Shakespeare Henry VIII Act. II, Scene 3 


End file.
